Amelia Clarke pressed her hand to the stainless-steel wall of the elevator, willing it to move. The numbers had frozen stubbornly on 43, glowing like a warning sign. Her son, Liam, clutched her leg with one hand and held his toy dinosaur in the other.
"Mommy… why did it stop?"
Her smile stayed calm, even if her pulse wasn't. "It's just taking a little break, sweetheart. Elevators get tired too."
He giggled, which helped her breathe—for a second. Then the lights flickered.
Not now. Not today. Not in the private elevator belonging to Nathaniel Black, the CEO whose name could freeze an entire room. She didn't even belong in this elevator. She'd only taken it because her babysitter had cancelled at the last minute, and she'd needed to get upstairs fast enough to send a report her boss had demanded "within the hour."
A sharp beep pierced the air.
Liam, curious and fearless in ways that terrified her, reached out and pressed a glowing red button.
The elevator jolted violently.
Amelia stumbled into the wall as the emergency alarm blared overhead. Panic clawed at her ribs. They were locked in place—on the forty-third floor, in a box that suddenly felt as small as her chances of keeping her job.
"Mommy, I'm scared," Liam whispered.
"I know," she murmured, kneeling to hold him close. "We're okay. Someone will fix it."
Another jolt. Then silence. Then—mercifully—the doors slid open.
She didn't even have time to think. She rushed out with Liam in her arms, stumbling onto polished black marble—
Straight into the middle of a conference table.
Dozens of men in suits stared. Cameras flashed. A slideshow about international expansion flickered behind them.
And at the head of the table stood Nathaniel Black.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Expression carved from winter stone.
His icy eyes lifted slowly from his files and locked onto her. The room fell into a hush so deep she felt it in her bones.
Amelia's voice cracked. "I—I'm so sorry—"
Her son chose that moment to drop his dinosaur. The plastic creature skittered across the glossy table and hit Nathaniel's perfectly tailored suit jacket.
One of the investors coughed to hide a laugh.
Nathaniel didn't even blink. But the muscles in his jaw tightened, a sharp, controlled movement that said everything.
Amelia clutched Liam close, mortified. "I promise, it was an accident. The elevator—"
"Miss Clarke," he said, voice low and lethal, "my office. Now."
Her breath caught. She wasn't getting fired. She was getting vaporized.
She hurried out of the conference room, Liam holding onto her neck. Behind her, she could feel the weight of whispers, the ripple of amusement, the subtle shift of power that his investors wouldn't forget easily.
She stepped into his office before her courage could fail, setting Liam gently on the ground. Her hands shook as she waited.
Nathaniel entered moments later, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounded like judgment.
He didn't sit. He didn't speak. He simply looked at her—as if calculating the exact cost of her existence.
"Explain," he said.
Amelia swallowed. "The elevator malfunctioned. I didn't intend to interrupt your meeting. I only brought my son because my babysitter cancelled and—"
"That does not concern me."
His voice was quiet, controlled, but edged with ice.
"What concerns me is that the media has footage of you bursting out of my private elevator with a child in your arms in the middle of a multimillion-dollar negotiation."
Her heart dropped. Media?
He stepped forward. "You've created a problem. I don't tolerate problems."
"Please," she whispered. "I need this job. I work hard. I—"
"You will not be fired."
She stared at him in shock.
His eyes flicked briefly toward her son, then back to her. "Not yet."
Her pulse stumbled. "Not… yet?"
"You are going to fix what you caused," he said coldly. "A narrative is forming around this incident, and you will help me control it."
Amelia felt the ground tilt beneath her.
"You're offering me… what exactly?"
"A temporary contract," he said. "Closer to me. Longer hours. Higher stakes."
His gaze hardened. "You owe me that much."
She clutched her trembling hands together. "And if I refuse?"
Nathaniel's lips curved—not into a smile, but something far sharper.
"Then, Miss Clarke, you won't need a babysitter or an elevator ever again. Because you will not be returning to this building."
He extended a folder toward her—a contract already printed, already waiting, as if he had anticipated every moment.
"Sign it," he said softly. "Your mistake. Your consequences."
Liam tugged her sleeve. "Mommy… are we in trouble?"
Amelia blinked back burning tears.
"Yes," Nathaniel murmured, eyes fixed on her. " You are."